


The Black Veil

by mareyshelley



Series: Tales for October [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood Play, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Supernatural Rivalry, Vampires, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26753845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mareyshelley/pseuds/mareyshelley
Summary: Realising that the local pawnbroker isn’t what he seems, Belle takes a step back from their budding friendship. If Gold wants to fight dirty, then she can definitely give him a fight.Winner of Best Supernatural and Best Bathing Scene in the 2021 TEAs.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Series: Tales for October [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1502117
Comments: 133
Kudos: 130





	1. The Horseshoe

_Stay away_.

The thought scratched at the back of Belle’s mind, and grew worse when she looked out of the library’s windows, to the pawnbroker’s across the street.

 _You are not welcome_.

She hadn’t felt it before. Gold, despite his cold demeanour to the rest of the town, was only ever amenable with Belle; maybe even amorous. Until now. He must have found out somehow. Now an uncomfortable itching pricked her skin, and the hairs stood up on the back of her neck. It made work almost impossible. She tried to smile, tried to register the returned books, shelve them, and recommend new books for patrons to take out. _Tried_. Belle wasn’t sure she succeeded.

It was when Belle stepped away from her desk for lunch that she realised the problem. Gold had hung something by his door; something made of iron and out of place.

She frowned and retreated into her office. The feeling of being unwelcome, of being warned away, abated a little when she closed the door. She couldn’t see what was by Gold’s door from inside her office.

Her sandwich sat half-eaten and picked at, while Belle tried to figure out _how_ Gold could know. The only conclusion she came to was that he was like her, only something else.

Abandoning her food, Belle hurried upstairs to her little apartment. It was only a one bedroom apartment, and that one bedroom was full of the side of her life she tried to keep hidden. Her altar sat in the corner near her bed, on a small table with a shelf above it. Bottles and jars lined the shelf, filled with herbs, salts, ashes, and whatever else she might need. Crystals and candles, a mirror and her athame, sat on the table beneath. Everything she needed to out Gold would be in there, or in the little flower boxes outside her windows.

She filled a small vase with baby’s breath, and blue and white daisies. _Purity and innocence_. The smell of the flowers filled her room, and the open windows let cool air flow through. She hadn’t realised how suffocating the library was, with Gold’s new ornament looming over her. Her room was on the other side of the library, away from his shop.

At least she’d be able to sleep without that awful itching.

Collecting together a few more supplies, Belle rushed back downstairs. She set the vase on the circulation desk. No one would be able to see it but her, unless they decided to lean over the front of the desk. Beside the vase she placed a glass of water and a white candle. She didn’t light the candle, that would have to wait until after Gold had left, but she needed it ready. 

The itching and scratching of needles on her skin returned as she set everything up. The air grew heavy, smothering, but Belle sat at her desk and waited.

She unlocked the doors five minutes earlier than usual, and Gold was always punctual about the time he returned his books. Normally, Belle would be reopening the doors just as Gold came across the street, but she wouldn’t do that today. Today she wanted to be safely behind her desk when he arrived, and she didn’t have to wait long.

Prompt as every other day, Gold stepped into the library just as her lunch break ended. Belle grabbed a pen and pretended to make notes. She scribbled on a scrap piece of paper, anything to keep her from looking at Gold, and listened to the sharp tap of his cane.

He was approaching her desk.

“Belle,” he said softly.

She stopped doodling and looked up. The smile he greeted her with, that soft reverence that should be out of place on someone who definitely wasn’t human, made her weak.

Why was he so kind to her face, when he had blocked her from entering his shop?

“You put a horseshoe by your door.” She hadn’t meant for the words to sound like an accusation, but they had and it was too late to take them back. Gold gave her an odd look and stepped closer to her desk.

“They’re said to bring good luck,” he explained. She couldn’t tell if his tone was conversational or a warning. “It’s just a… silly token from my son.”

Belle gripped her pen tighter. “They’re also said to repel malevolent creatures.”

“If that were true I wouldn’t be allowed in my own shop,” he quipped, and set his books on her desk. “Do you have anything on silver hallmarks?”

 _Silver_. That certainly helped her to narrow down what he might be, if he could touch silver.

“We have a book on silver and ceramic marks, but it’s fairly old.”

Gold smirked. “Well, what I mean to identify is fairly old.”

His easy jokes had once made her smile, but now Belle wasn’t sure what to think of them. Were they a way of luring her in? If they were, why hadn’t he done anything to her in the past year they’d known one another? Maybe they were just a way of covering whatever he was behind humour and flirting, so that she wouldn’t look too deeply past the mask.

“I…” Belle shook her head and stood up. “I’ll get it for you.”

“Oh, there’s no need--”

“No, no. Just--” She held up her right hand. “Stay there.”

Walking quickly, and hoping that it didn’t look too much like a run, Belle disappeared into the history section. She couldn’t see Gold from towards the back of the library, but she could _feel_ him. Somehow, knowing that he was different made her aware of his differences, where she hadn’t been before.

The feeling of being watched, followed, hunted, surrounded her. A cold presence crept through the library, seeking her out. Even hidden behind the stacks she could sense Gold nearby.

Belle turned around and almost walked into him. 

“Oh! I--” She hadn’t heard his cane. “I thought you were waiting?”

He smiled easily and let his eyes scan the rows of books beside her. Belle returned the smile and put her hands to her stomach. She wanted to step back, but that would have been too obvious.

“I thought perhaps you could recommend another book for me,” he said, reaching past her head.

Belle held her breath. The sleeve of his blazer brushed her ear, and a tremor ran through her.

“What sort of book?” she asked quietly.

Gold pulled back his arm and held up the book of hallmarks.

“I’m in the mood for something different,” he said, resting his cane in the crook of his arm so he could flip through the book.

“A novel?” she hedged, but Gold shook his head without looking up from his book. “Poetry, then? You could try a collection of poems.”

Grasping her chance to move away, Belle sidestepped him and moved to the poetry section. This time, she did hear his cane tapping behind her. She refused to look back. Instead, she focused on the shelves of books, and picked out one for a man that she realised she barely knew.

“How about this?” she asked with false cheer, plucking an old book of nineteenth century poems from the shelf. If her suspicions were correct, he’d probably appreciate the older writers. All of the novels he’d taken out in the past had been classics from the same period.

He took the book from her and skimmed the contents page. Keats, Poe, Shelley. Belle had been fond of all of their writing. 

“Ode to a Nightingale,” he read.

Belle nodded stiffly. “Do you like that one?”

Gold smiled, slow and sly, as if he saw something which she couldn’t.

“A narrator shrouded in darkness,” he said in a low voice, stepping closer. “But still able to sense the beauty around him?”

He hesitated then, for just a moment, and reached out to tenderly brush her hair behind her ear. Belle forgot how to breathe.

“I find it quite relatable,” he finished.

Belle nodded, drawn in to his dark eyes, and spoke without thinking.

“ _Darkling I listen_ ,” she recited. “ _And, for many a time, I have been half in love with easeful Death._ ”

Gold smiled and stroked her cheek, but Belle stood unmoving. She didn’t know what else to do, and had no idea what else to say. At some point, if he hadn’t noticed her unease already, Gold would realise that she was withdrawn and uncomfortable. He would know that his horseshoe by the door had succeeded in making her feel unwelcome.

Maybe then he would drop the act and stop pretending to like her.

“I’ll take them both,” he said with a smile, and handed her the two books.

Belle took them to her desk to stamp them. He waited just behind her, and from that angle he would be able to see her flowers and candle, but he didn’t say anything. When she turned to face him, his eyes were only on her.

“Thank you, Miss French.”

Taking the books from her, Gold tipped his head and made to leave. She should have let him go, but something about his visit felt wrong. It wasn’t just the warning on his shop. It was his whole demeanour. He was far too good at lying.

She reached out before he could get away.

“How did you know?” she asked, grasping his wrist. He was so cold. The chill seeped into the scar on her palm.

Gold’s face barely changed. He was neither surprised at being grabbed, nor annoyed. His dark eyes dropped to where her fingers dug into his skin, and she tore her hand away.

“Know what?” he asked calmly.

Belle shook her head, searching his face. His eyes gave nothing away; no amusement or contempt. He was a good actor.

“Nothing.” She tried to smile, rubbing the warmth back into her fingers. “Enjoy your books, Mr. Gold.”

He nodded and waited for a moment, as if he expected her to grab him again, and only turned to leave when she put her hands behind her back.

An odd weight of disappointment settled in her stomach as she watched him leave. He hadn’t said anything to give himself away, but now that she was actually _looking_ for something, his differences were obvious. Everyone else had warned her that Gold was cold and ruthless. She should have listened, but he’d hidden behind charm and wit, and she’d fallen for it. After so many years she should have known to keep her guard up, even in a small town like Storybrooke.

Sighing, Belle collapsed into her chair behind the circulation desk. The feeling of being watched left with him, but the prickling on her skin remained. It wouldn’t go away until the horseshoe did.

She turned to her flowers and frowned. They’d wilted. They hung limp, their petals turned black, and the life she had once felt in them was gone. They _felt_ dead. The water was still clear and clean, the candle was untouched. Only the flowers showed any negative sign of his presence. So he _was_ something. She could rule out him being one of her own, or anything warded away by iron or silver. That narrowed things down considerably.

Glancing around the library, ensuring she was alone, Belle plucked a head from each of the three flowers. She dropped them into the water and lit her candle. This was something she’d only ever read about. She’d never needed to know if someone wasn’t human before.

Lifting the glass above the flame, Belle concentrated on the dead plants inside. If the plants were killed by dark magic, then the remains of that should colour the water, she’d read. But nothing happened. The dead flowers bobbed in the top of the clear water, and nothing changed. Belle huffed and set the glass down.

There had to be a way of knowing for certain, without asking him or using wards.

Heaving a sigh, Belle hid the wilted flowers in her office and blew out the candle. She watched the wisps of smoke dance through the air and fade, carrying away her one chance of figuring things out.

* * *

The remainder of the afternoon dragged. People came and went; returning and taking out books, browsing and researching. Belle tried to focus on that. She gave people recommendations, and reshelved the returned books, but nothing could fully take her mind away from the dead flowers on her desk. And her skin still itched.

By closing time, a sea fog rolled in to welcome the evening. The light in the front of Gold’s shop stayed on, even as Belle locked up and turned off the library lights. He often stayed late. She hadn’t thought about it before. Everyone knew that Gold spent a lot of time in his shop, but she hadn’t considered before that it might be something inhuman that kept him there so late. A nocturnal thing, maybe? Maybe he was a brownie, or an imp. It would explain his hoard of antiques and the homely feeling of his shop -- before he blocked her from it -- but the iron would have repelled him like it did her.

She could check them off her mental list, too.

Shaking her head at herself, Belle returned to the collection desk. The glass of water was still where she left it, but something seemed off about it in the dark. A slit of light came from the streetlamp outside, and Belle tried to hold the glass up to it, but the water still looked strange. Black. Inky. 

Baffled, Belle collected together her things and retreated upstairs. She locked herself in her apartment, but something told her to keep the lights off. So she did. Leaving her candle and vase on the coffee table, she carried the glass through to the kitchenette. Whatever was inside sloshed around, thicker than water, and the dead flowers were barely visible in the dark liquid.

The kitchen window looked out to Gold’s shop across the street. His light was still on, and the incessant itching still clawed at her skin. She ignored it as best as she could, and held the glass up to the window. In the moonlight, the dark water almost had a tint of another colour to it, deep in the black. It looked almost red.

 _Oh gods_.

The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered in the sink. Red filled the bowl, covering her unwashed dishes, and splattered across her hands.

She felt sick. Nausea rose in the back of her throat, but she had to ignore it. She pushed it back down and hurried to turn on the kitchen light. The blood on her fingers smudged across the light switch, and then the room flooded with light and the blood disappeared.

It was just water.

Darting back to the sink, Belle frowned as she peered inside. Nothing but water and glass covered her dishes, nothing but water had splashed up the window, but she knew now.

Tipping the water out of the bowl, Belle rinsed everything off. She washed away any trace of the water that had been in the glass, including the small shards themselves. She needed it all gone.

When that was done, she took her candle and flowers, and put them into a box. She didn’t need them, not now that she knew what he was, but she had to dispose of the flowers.

She couldn’t have _that_ energy in her library, and if he was going to find a way to keep her from his shop, then she would find a way to keep him from her home. It was typical of his kind to be prejudiced and arrogant. His charm was nothing more than a mask, and she’d been a complete idiot not to see it before.

When night finally came, Belle carried the box out of the library. The itching of the horseshoe grew worse outside, needling and prickling, but she had a plan for that. The lights in Gold’s shop had been turned off, and once she was sure he wasn’t inside, she approached the door. The itching became a sharp sting, almost like pins and needles. The feeling desperately wanted to keep her back, but Belle ignored it.

Looking at the horseshoe, the small clump of iron beside his door, she pulled a rusted nail from her pocket and held it up. It was iron, but rusted iron seemed to have little effect on her. That was the point. She held the nail between herself and the horseshoe, in her left hand with the scar cut across her palm.

Imagining what she wanted was easy, and when the intention was pictured clearly in her mind, she blew on the nail like a dandelion.

Nothing happened, it would take time, but the magic had been planted. Like a little seed, it needed time to take root and grow.

Smiling, Belle placed the nail on Gold’s windowsill and walked away.

The waxing moon shined bright, and it was a lovely night for a walk into the woods. She had several more things she wanted to do before Gold woke up and realised what she’d done.


	2. White Roses and Garlic

Mornings were an unnatural time for him, but as much as Gold hated mornings, he hated breaking his routine more. Every morning, promptly at 8 o’clock, he would rise and open his shop. It didn’t matter how busy his night had been, or how little rest he’d had, he would always open the shop on time.

But sometimes things happened to waylay his routine.

A rather unfortunate mishap during the night had delayed him returning to rest. Leaning on his cane, Gold returned to his shop a little after 8, with an aching jaw and an empty stomach. It would make him irritable for the rest of the day, but it couldn’t be helped. He would have to wait. Seeing his shopfront was a small relief, but the relief didn’t last for long when he found his son’s horseshoe on the ground.

Frowning, Gold shifted his weight from his cane and picked it up. Bright orange rust had corroded each of the nails, and from where the nails pierced the horseshoe, rust had spread out like fine roots.

His frown deepened. It seemed he wasn’t alone in Storybrooke after all. That was a pity. He’d enjoyed the anonymity of being the only one in town who knew the truth.

Glancing up and down the street, nothing out of the ordinary caught his eye. No one was waiting nearby to see his reaction to their wee spell. The other shops along the road were already open. People milled in and out of them, the same as they did every other day.

Gold unlocked his shop and took the horseshoe inside. Whatever reason Baelfire -- _Neal_ \-- had for sending the shoe, he couldn’t have that hanging on the front of his shop now. He couldn’t bring himself to throw it away, either.

Gold left it on his desk and began his work. There was a watch to repair and a silver tea set in need of identifying, but even with an hour cut out of his morning, he managed to have both done by lunch. There hadn’t been any need for him to rush, not on a quiet Monday, but he’d wanted to have everything done before his usual visit to the library. At least that could happen on time, as planned. It was his customers that threatened to slow him down now.

“She likes… something simple?” David hesitated, leaning over the jewellery cabinet. The same one he’d been staring at for the last five minutes.

Gold raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

David just laughed. He only ever smiled or laughed at Gold, as if he thought he had some great, dry wit.

“You know what I mean,” he said, clapping him on the arm. “Something…”

Gold looked at his arm then looked at David.

“Delicate?” he suggested, ignoring the urge to dust off his sleeve.

He pulled out a tray of silver necklaces, each one a fine chain with a stone pendant. Some of the stones were semi-precious, Gold explained, but some chains held diamonds or emeralds. He waited for David to inspect them, and his eyes flicked across to the window.

Belle had already closed the library for lunch. He wouldn’t have long before she reopened it and he missed his opportunity to talk to her alone.

David picked out one of the silver necklaces. 

Delicate jewellery suited Belle, he’d noticed, but he wouldn’t choose silver for her. Silver was adequate for David’s wife, but not Belle. He would give Belle a dainty gold chain, with a small, sparkling diamond. That would suit her perfectly; more than the silver and emerald David had chosen.

“That’s the one,” David decided, pulling Gold’s attention back into the shop.

Gold gave him a tighter smile and took the necklace from him to box it up.

“A wise choice,” he said monotonously. David never seemed to mind his distant replies. They certainly hadn’t stopped him from visiting the shop every time he needed a gift for his wife.

He wrapped the box and sent David on his way.

A mist from the sea had cleared most of the street by the time he was finally alone. People settled in their shops or in the diner to wait out the wet cold. Gold didn’t mind it. It was his ideal sort of weather, and the exact reason he’d settled into the sleepy coastal town.

Double checking the time, he grabbed his cane and books, and locked up. The street was near invisible through the mist. Only the shops neighbouring his own and the tall library building were visible. A cloud had settled over Storybrooke, reducing the sun to a dull, shrouded glow in the sky.

Leaning on his cane, Gold approached the library through the fog. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that someone out there was watching him, and it only grew as he got closer to the library. Then he realised what the feeling was. He’d felt it before, the feeling of being unwelcome when an invitation had not been given. Or had been taken away. It was an energy, like an invisible wall, pressing against him and keeping him out.

He knew before he pushed against the library doors that they would not open for him, and they didn’t. That only added to the mystery, or maybe it answered it. There was only one person who could keep him from the library. Only one person lived there.

The door opened, and he looked up to find that person standing in front of him. She was dressed so precisely; a short skirt, black frilled blouse to match her black heels, not a chestnut curl out of place, and her sharp nails freshly painted. She was too perfect. He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it before. She must have charmed him.

“What did you do?” he asked, half in awe and half confused. Belle smiled.

“It’s a bundle,” she answered simply, and glanced to the top of the door.

 _Ah_. She’d hidden something up there to keep him from entering. Clever thing. The rule of invitation only applied to private dwellings, not public buildings. She’d had to be creative.

“It’s mostly white roses and garlic,” she added, holding his gaze with her startling blue eyes. “And coffin nails. To keep the dead in place.”

Gold kept his face carefully blank, almost serene, and shook his head.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Miss French.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”

The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been a smile, but Gold would have said it was out of irritation. He could feel the presence of the nails now. The plants were no doubt a good guess, pulled from her little books, but it was the nails that kept him at bay.

“How did you guess?”

“Apotropaic magic.” She allowed herself a smile, pleased with herself. “You used it to keep me out of your shop.”

“And you just happen to have coffin nails?” he questioned.

Belle crossed her arms, not at all amused, and Gold gripped the handle of his cane. He had to concede that he _had_ put iron outside his door, but he hadn’t known there was anyone it would ward away. Up until that morning, as far as Gold was concerned, he was the only non-human in town. But Belle had chosen to retaliate, and he couldn’t let that go unchallenged.

“Perhaps I should come back later,” he reasoned, as calmly and detached as he could manage. “If you wish to have your books returned, I suggest you remove those nails from your door.”

“You can’t keep them,” Belle argued, stepping dangerously close to the threshold of the door.

He stepped back, and lifted the books out of her reach. She almost seemed tempted to dart across the barrier she’d made. A spark of defiance flashed in her eyes and Gold smiled, baring his teeth. She wouldn’t cross the line, not now she knew the truth.

Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and he hated the predictability of her kind.

“Whyever not?” he asked, his smile twisting into a snarl. “You should have made your move when I didn’t have something you wanted, dear.”

Belle scowled at him. He hadn’t seen anything but a smile on her face before. The scowl looked out of place. It twisted her mouth all wrong and held no warmth, and yet a part of him still wanted to pull her against him.

Taking another step back, Gold threw up his cane and caught it in the middle. There was no point in pretending anymore.

“Good day, Miss French.”

He stalked away without the use of his cane, before he could see the look on her face change.

* * *

The mist didn’t lift until that evening. It welcomed a clear, starry night, perfect for going out.

Miss French seemed to agree.

Shortly after Gold had turned out the lights in his shop, pretending to go home for the night, she left her little library. She walked with uncertain steps, the way someone who didn’t want to be caught would move. Gold watched from the shadows of his shop, between the blinds, as she hid under the cover of her library and watched his shop. He wasn’t certain what she was watching for. He assumed she wanted to be sure he had left, before she set off towards the beach.

Giving her a head start, Gold took his cane and walked across to the library. No one was around to see him, but even if they were, he had long ago mastered the art of blending with the shadows. People would only see him if he wanted them to. As it was, the street was empty. The shops and their workers had closed hours before, and anyone still out was either in the diner or the Rabbit Hole.

He approached the library and pressed against the doors. They were locked, but even locked doors weren’t normally a challenge for him. These, however, were. The barrier held firm, keeping him out of the library even while Belle was away.

She hadn’t removed the nails, so she wouldn’t be getting her books back.

Growling in frustration, he left the library and main street behind. The beauty of quiet, empty towns was that almost no one was likely to spot him. No doubt that was the reason for Miss French’s late night walk. They were free to be themselves under the cover of dark, where no one in their small town could see. She had the woods and sea to aid her in whatever nefarious magic she practised, and he had the woods and sea to help him hide his own nefarious deeds.

Perhaps they weren’t so different after all. If only she hadn’t made her distaste for him so clear.

Gold traced her steps, led by the berry scent of her perfume, incense, and the distant thumping of life. She’d kept to the smaller roads, those that led away from the docks and bars, until she came to the dunes. There, the salt of the sea overpowered her perfume, but her footprints were clear in the sand. She’d taken off her shoes.

Rocky dunes separated the beach from the road. Gold walked amongst them, partially hidden by the mounds of sand, and the tall grass ruffled in the breeze. Black butterflies flitted amongst the blades, and Gold knew. Belle was nearby. He couldn’t see her yet, but he could hear her. The thrum of her heart guided him along, across the moonlit dunes, until he came over the crest and saw her. She walked along the beach where the water met the shore, her shoes held in one hand. Every few steps, she bent over to pluck something from the sand.

Gold watched her, slowly inching forward, as she dusted off whatever she was collecting and put it into a little bag.

She didn’t hear his approach. His shoes didn’t crunch through the sand, his steps didn’t splash through the water. Belle didn’t seem to mind the slow waves rolling in and lapping at her own feet. If anything, she seemed to enjoy the cold water on her skin and the moon shining in her hair.

He had to wait for the right moment, when she was distracted enough by a pretty shell, and he could step around her. She didn’t notice. She didn’t hear him. Humming to herself, Belle dropped the shell into her bag and stood up. He almost felt guilty when she gasped and stepped backwards, into the rippling waves of the sea.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped, pressing her hand to her chest. Her heart pounded faster.

“I enjoy late night walks,” he told her calmly.

She straightened her back and moved out of the reach of the water. Gold’s eyes followed her, but he stayed where he was and didn’t move more than that.

“I’m sure you do,” she said warily.

 _So suspicious_. Only a week ago she’d been all smiles and cheery greetings whenever he’d entered the library. Now she knew the truth, her whole demeanour had changed.

Gold smiled, if showing his teeth could be called that, and shrugged. 

“Do you think that’s why I followed you?” he asked.

She frowned. “So you admit you were following me.”

Gold gripped his cane and stepped forward.

“I followed you to let you know that whatever charms you used to make me--“ He set his jaw, calming himself, and she narrowed her eyes. “They won’t work now.”

Belle scoffed. “I didn’t charm you. _You_ charmed _me_!”

That surprised a laugh from him, and it made her pretty little frown deepen. Gold licked his lips and willed his smile away, but it didn’t quite work. The amusement was still plain in his voice.

“What a novel thought,” he said. “Whyever would I charm you, Miss French?”

Her mouth opened and closed, grasping for words that wouldn’t come. She didn’t know how to answer, not without embarrassing herself, and Gold smiled.

“I see,” he said slowly, carefully. Reaching out for her, he took a step closer and delighted in the way she lifted her chin to glare at him. She wouldn’t back down.

“Do you think yourself so enchanting,” Gold drawled, lightly grazing his nails down her cheek. “That I would desire you, and use charms to get you?”

Shaking her head, Belle grasped his wrist and smiled. “You thought I did the same to you.”

Snatching his hand away, Gold straightened his back and dug his cane into the sand between them. He didn’t need it, she knew he didn’t need it, but he did it all the same; a habit he’d never been able to shake.

“I don’t need charms,” he countered.

Belle smiled sweetly, despite the sour glint in her eyes. “But I do?”

“Your kind always do.”

She glared at him and turned around to walk away. It was hard to march off across sand, but she tried it. The sea splashed at her feet, filling in the footprints behind her, and the moon bounced off her hair. A black butterfly flitted behind her back and the air crackled around her.

_I didn’t charm you._

Gold scoffed.

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

“I’m going home,” she shouted. “ _Don’t_ follow me.”

“I couldn’t if I tried, dear. Not with your little bundle above the door.”

Turning around, she continued to walk backwards and frowned at him. “Good!”

Gripping his cane, Gold stayed where he was and let her walk away. The sand and sea hadn’t done his shoes any good, or the bottom of his trousers, but he stayed where he was until she was out of sight.

 _Ridiculous little thing_ , he thought, making his own way back into town. His kind weren’t the ones who bewitched people, and her suggesting that he needed deception to get anyone to like him was the final insult. Gold must have been bewitched to ever think of her as kind or gentle or lovely. It was all a trick; one he would not fall for again.

He would stay away from Miss French and her library, and he would not return her books.


	3. The Bed of Dirt

While Belle marked off the days to Samhain, she also marked the days since she last spoke to Gold. He hadn’t tried to re-enter the library since finding out the truth, and he still had her books.

She wasn’t sure if he was avoiding her, or if she was avoiding him and he simply had no way of getting the books back to her. The distance between them could have been something they both chose, but Belle still felt ridiculous for missing his weekly, sometimes daily visits. The library occupied most of her time, and the other patrons were nice, but they didn’t engage her in conversation like Mr. Gold had.

That was probably how he’d charmed her. It wouldn’t be a secret that a librarian liked books. He’d just needed to talk to her about them, and she’d happily walked into his net.

She should have left the horseshoe up, just for the constant reminder to _stay away_.

At least she had other things to focus on, like her annual change. The rapid approach of Samhain meant the same changes. Her hair had already started to turn grey at the temples. Not so much that it was too noticeable, but it meant that she would have to wear her hair down and prepare for the end of the month sooner.

With a basket swinging at her side and the waning moon to guide her way, Belle walked the path to Storybrooke’s woods. Black butterflies fluttered around her, coming out to greet the night. One landed on the handle of her basket, and remained with her for most of the walk with its black wings open, enjoying the cold. There wasn’t much that could have dampened her mood, but the subject of her latest worry, the one she’d hoped to forget about on her foraging trip, emerged from the woods.

He looked as at home there, amongst the shadows of the trees and the moonlight, as he did in his shop. His black suit blended in almost entirely.

“Mr. Gold?” She paused along the path and the butterflies flew away.

He stopped when he saw her, and leaned against something. It wasn’t his cane, she knew that, and her stomach dropped.

“What are you doing here?” Belle pressed, holding her basket in front of herself.

Gold gave a roguish smile and stepped forward, out of the shadows of the forest. The moonlight highlighted his sharp face and the darkness in his eyes. He would have looked calm and in control, as he always did, if not for a splatter of something dark on his forehead.

Belle’s eyes glanced down to shovel at his side.

“Just a little disagreement with a tenant,” he assured her. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

He spoke as if he’d bumped into a neighbour and they were having a pleasant talk about the weather, but there was something in his eyes. They looked almost wolf-like in the dark, the whites entirely concealed by shadow. There was nothing pleasant or neighbourly about the way he regarded her. His eyes narrowed with suspicion, waiting for her reaction.

Would she run and scream, or would she curse him and call him a monster?

She took a deep breath and stepped closer. It would be hypocritical to condemn him for what he was, even if there was a part of her that wanted to feel sick about what he’d done. She couldn’t. Neither of them were human.

“I wasn’t concerned. I just wanted to be sure you weren’t following me again,” she said conversationally.

His face went carefully blank, and Belle knew she’d surprised him. Ever since she’d found out the truth, he’d taken to masking any emotion he didn’t want her to see. He definitely wouldn’t want her to know that she’d caught him off guard.

“ _Anyway._ ” Smiling brightly, Belle lifted her little wicker basket and stepped around him. “I’ll leave you alone with your spade.”

Gold took her hand as she passed, and ran his thumb over the back of her fingers. Belle froze.

”You and I aren’t as different as you might think,” he said.

“We’re _very_ different.”

“Hm.” Unconvinced, Gold lifted her hand, and she realised too late that he was comparing it to his own. They were both pale, but that was hardly an indication of similarity. In the low light, and up close, she could see the blue veins weaving beneath his pallid skin. He was cold and dead, and she was warm. That was another difference. Belle liked to paint her nails black, his were unpainted, but they were just as sharp as hers. He turned her hand over and Belle pulled it away.

Gold smiled.

“Why do you do your little forages at night?” he asked, lowering his arm. “Why do you wait out the day, when the sea and the trees are just a short walk from your dear library?”

She frowned and shook her head. “I prefer it.”

“You prefer the dark?”

“I prefer the quiet.”

Gold eyed her, with those amber and wolfish eyes that appeared to glow in the dark. She could easily believe he wasn’t human when she saw him at night.

Her words did little to convince herself that they were true, nevermind Gold. He _knew_ they weren’t true. He had seen straight through her, through the scar on her hand, to what she really was and what she did. Just like she’d finally seen through him.

“Forgive me if I don’t quite believe you, dear,” he said after a moment of quiet, taking her left hand. “I don’t think it’s the quiet that draws you out.”

Stepping forward, closing that fragile gap between them, he put his fingertips to her cheek, as the thumb of his other hand rubbed her scar. His cold crept into the silver skin, bleeding into her veins. Belle struggled to keep her breathing steady.

“How long have you been doing this?” he asked.

 _This_ could have meant anything, but she knew what he really wanted to know. It was a question that no one should have ever known to ask. She was careful. She’d been doing this for long enough to know how to hide what she was, and how she stayed that way.

She said nothing, but met his eyes with defiance.

“Interesting part of the woods to choose,” Gold noted, looking off towards the edge of town. “We’re not far from the cemetery here, are we?”

Belle stayed quiet, clenching her jaw. His smile grew without having to look at her. Her silence was enough for him.

“I see,” he said, nodding and stepping back. “As I said. We’re not so different.”

His cold fingers left her skin and she sighed. Warmth returned to her hand, and Belle held it behind her back, rubbing where his thumb had touched her. Her scar tingled.

“Goodnight, Miss French.” Gold tipped his head and turned to walk away.

“ _Wait_.” The word left her before she could rethink it, and Gold stopped to look at her before she could take it back. She shook her head, at herself and him. “Where did you bury them?”

For a moment, he regarded her with only a blank expression. The expression of a man who hadn’t heard her, or didn’t know what she was talking about. She thought he would leave without answering, but then a glimmer of a smile tugged at his lips.

“Somewhere they won’t be found,” he said.

That wasn’t a good enough answer.

“I like to honour the dead,” she admitted, gripping her left hand behind her back. Gold’s smile widened.

“Take it from me, dear,” he said, finally turning his back on her and walking away. “He doesn’t deserve your grief.”

* * *

His words stayed with her. A day later, and Belle still couldn’t shake everything Gold had said.

Even as she decorated the library for Halloween, she couldn’t stop her thoughts and her eyes from drifting towards Gold. Mary Margaret helped with the decorating. They hung cobwebs across bookcases, and tissue paper ghosts on the walls. They weren’t really Belle’s idea of Samhain, but the children loved them.

She saved a string of bats for the window that faced Gold’s shop. They were cheap, plastic things with wings that flapped when she carried them. Perhaps it was spiteful or petty to hope that he’d see them every morning, but it was almost Samhain, and he couldn’t complain about a few Halloween decorations for the kids.

She finished up the rest of the decorations by herself, when the library was mostly empty. By the evening, when the autumn mist settled over the town, the library’s preparations were complete and Belle found herself entirely alone. There was nothing left to distract her from Gold; from knowing that her secret was no longer a secret.

Gold’s lights had been turned off almost as soon as he closed the shop. It was pure impulse that made her lock up the library and hurry across the road. She didn’t know what she was going to do when she reached the door, until she was standing in front of it and testing the handle. She had to go in. Whatever had prompted Gold to keep her from his shop had to be inside. Now that he’d found out her secret, it was only fair that she knew his.

Checking up and down the street, Belle knelt down in front of the door. The evening mist would provide her with some cover while she tried to recall what little she’d read about lock picking. Plucking the pins from her hair, she split one and bent the other. There was a slim chance of it working, but she was determined to find out _something_.

She couldn’t let Gold have the upper hand.

The pins slid easily into the keyhole. She had little light to work by, but all she needed was to feel for each lockpin inside. She could do that, she told herself, with a little patience.

A black butterfly fluttered around her head. Normally it would land on her, or on something she carried, but it kept flitting around her face and hands instead.

“I know,” Belle whispered, picking the first pin. “It’ll be okay.” 

The butterfly didn’t listen. It only fluttered faster around her face as she worked at the remaining pins. Her knees started to ache, but Belle kept going, even through the butterfly’s insistent flapping.

“I have to find _something_ \--” The lock clicked.

Briefly, the reality of what she was doing started to creep back in, but she couldn’t let that stop her. She pocketed the broken hairpins and stiffly pushed herself to her feet. The butterfly landed on her hand as she reached for the handle, but it was too late. The door was unlocked. No matter what, Gold would know that someone had unlocked his shop, and he wouldn’t believe her if she told him she hadn’t stepped inside.

“It’ll be okay,” she repeated, and the butterfly left her hand.

She tried to reach for the bell as she stepped inside, and only just managed to touch it in her heels. Her hand dulled the jingle, and she left the door ajar to keep it from ringing when it closed.

The inside of Gold’s shop only had the glow of the streetlamp outside to light her way. The warm light filtered in through the narrow gap in the door and the slats in the blinds. It was enough for her to see some of his displays, but the further into the shop Belle went, the darker it became. The curtain that separated the shop itself from the back room was entirely shrouded in shadows. She could barely see it as she grasped the edge and pulled it aside.

The smells of polish, old wood, and earth surrounded her, but not much else. The windows on the wall and door had all been covered with thick curtains. Belle had to pull out her phone and use its torch to see anything. Her butterfly reappeared, dancing through the light. It fluttered about the room and landed on the headboard of an old bed by the far wall. Belle ignored it, more drawn to his projects hidden behind the curtain, than the troubled butterfly.

“See?” she whispered gently, searching the empty room. “Everything’s fine.”

Gold’s desk drew her attention, with numerous tools to fix his antiques, and tins of polish and varnish. A stack of books sat on one side, to the left of his chair. Belle flicked through the topmost book, but it was the spines of the two below it that really interested her. They were her books, from the library; the books he refused to return. Belle grabbed them and held them tight. He would already know someone had broken in, she might as well take her books and let him think that was all she wanted.

Hugging them to her chest, Belle circled his desk. The rest of the room looked similar to the front shop, but with less organisation. It saddened her to think that someone had been so desperate that they would pawn their most valuable possessions. Jewellery, watches, antique furniture. They had to have meant something to someone once. Now they were sitting in a dark little pawnshop, owned by a--

Something crunched beneath her heel.

Belle stepped back and shone her torch at the floor. Beside the bed lay a sprinkling of something black, like crumbs.

The butterfly flitted around her, but Belle ignored it. She set her books back on his desk and placed her mobile on top. Gold was normally such a fastidious man. He wouldn’t leave a single spec of dirt in his shop.

She eyed the bed and, despite the butterfly’s incessant fluttering, she bent down to grasp the mattress. The bed was kept to the same clean standards as all the other antiques; no dust; not a crease or pillow out of place. This wasn’t a bed for sleeping in, and if it wasn’t there to be slept in, why did he let it take up so much space in the back room?

If he was going to hide his secrets anywhere, why not under the mattress?

Bracing herself, she lifted the mattress and board underneath like a lid, to reveal a bed-sized crate of dirt. Belle frowned and scooped some of the soil up in her hand. It felt different. Earth in the woods bloomed with life, or the possibility of it. This earth reeked of death. An ancient, acrid taste -- almost metallic -- filled her mouth as the dirt slipped through her fingers.

“Graveyard dirt?” she realised, looking down at where she’d disturbed the soil. Something pale peeked out; something that had been hidden until a moment ago.

The butterfly tried to land on her again, but Belle was nothing if not curious and impulsive. She brushed aside more of the dirt, revealing pallid flesh and sharp claws.

She stumbled backwards.

A hand wearing a moonstone ring rose from the soil, and curled its long fingers around the edge of the crate. It creaked with the movement, the nails scraping the wood.

Belle grabbed her books and ran.

* * *

She hid in her library for the rest of the week. Gold’s shop continued to open each day, as if nothing had happened, but she didn’t see him. No matter what time of day or night she glanced across to his shop, Gold didn’t leave. If he did, he did so without being seen.

She stuck to her library and apartment -- working, baking and reading -- and tried to forget about Gold and what she’d seen. She _knew_ what he was. Seeing proof of that shouldn’t have scared her, but it had. And on top of that, her change was coming more rapidly. The streaks of grey at her temple reached the full length of her hair. No one had commented on it yet, she kept it hidden with her hair down, but it was harder to conceal the laugh lines appearing beside her mouth.

Gold would notice if he saw her.

“The kids are really looking forward to next week,” Mary Margaret said.

Her words pulled Belle’s thoughts away from Gold. She smiled at the primary school teacher and signed out her books, and Mary Margaret kindly didn’t say anything about Belle staring out of the window while she talked.

“Me too,” Belle agreed. “Halloween’s my favourite holiday.”

Mary Margaret smiled, playing with the little emerald necklace around her neck while she waited for Belle to stamp her books. Belle took her time, as much as she could, and when Mary Margaret finally left, Belle’s one distraction left with her. She glanced across to the window, and half-expected to see Gold marching across to demand answers, but Graham was there instead. He left Gold’s shop and came straight across to the library.

 _Oh no_. Would Gold really report her for breaking and entering? She only took back the library books. He wouldn’t be able to tell Graham that she’d disturbed his rest.

“Belle?”

Her head snapped around from the window, to where Graham stood over her desk. She swallowed.

“Yes?” she asked.

He pulled a face, almost a wince, and looked around to the few people milling through the stacks. 

“I need to ask you a few questions about the other night,” he said quietly, leaning forward so only she would hear.

Belle nodded stiffly and stood up.

“Right.” She tried to smile, to remain calm and get her story straight in her head. “Let’s go to my office.”


	4. Black Butterfly

It didn’t taste the same once it was cold. He needed a fresh batch.

Gold screwed the cap back onto his flask and returned it to his pocket. The morning had been a quiet one, and he’d taken to working in the back room while there were no customers; to keep himself from watching the library. Belle had hung Halloween decorations in the windows, and he was certain she’d deliberately hung up the cheap bats just to taunt him.

He wouldn’t rise to it. There were plenty of things in need of repair in his shop to distract him. Polishing an old chest of drawers had eaten up most of his time, and provided him with just the distraction needed to forget about Miss French; at least for a short while.

He didn’t believe she would let herself into his shop simply to retrieve her books. There must have been something else she wanted, and the mystery, the idea that there was something he didn’t know, itched at the back of his mind in the following days.

The shop’s bell rang. There hadn’t been many customers that morning, and lunch had only just ended. He hadn’t been expecting anyone else so soon.

Dabbing the red from his lips, Gold grabbed his cane and pushed aside the curtains to the front of the shop. He didn’t realise, until the curtains fell behind him and a weight sank in his stomach, that a small part of him had been hoping it was Belle.

“You’re in luck,” Graham greeted instead.

“Few people would consider two visits in one week _luck_ ,” Gold said, coming to stand behind the front counter. He leaned on his cane. It slowed down his walk, but that was the point. Graham waited patiently, naturally, but Gold saw the spark of curiosity in his eyes. Curiosity and something else.

“Belle gave you an alibi,” Graham continued. 

Gold stared. “Excuse me?”

“And when I asked her why your two stories didn’t match,” Graham continued, unperturbed by his confusion. Gold realised that the _something else_ was doubt. “She told me it was because she’d asked you for discretion?”

Gold was beginning to doubt what he was hearing, too.

“Discretion?” he repeated.

Graham glanced behind at the shop’s door, as if he expected someone to walk in and overhear what he was about to say. Gold’s eyes followed, but they didn’t land on the door; they fell on the library beyond and the ridiculous plastic bats in the window.

“Look, if you’re trying to protect Belle, it’s only going to work against the both of you.” Graham sighed and looked him in the eye. “The night Nottingham went missing, were you and Belle together?”

Gold gripped his cane. It wasn’t a lie, strictly speaking. Belle and him had crossed paths as he left the woods, shovel in hand. They had, momentarily, been together that night. Whatever her reasoning, Belle had chosen her words carefully to cover for him.

 _Cunning thing_.

He hoped his smile wasn’t too sardonic. “We were.”

“Great.” Graham nodded, his doubt fading, and wrote something in his notepad. “That’s all I needed to know.”

Gold waited for him to finish and bid him goodbye. It hadn’t been the distraction he’d needed, and Graham left him with even more questions to plague his mind. Belle’s motives didn’t add up. She blocked him from the library, stuck those dreadful bats in her window, broke into his shop and disturbed his rest, and then gave him an alibi.

Every move she made felt like another rug pulled out from beneath his feet. He needed answers, and there was only one way he could get them.

* * *

A storm had been predicted for the following days. Grey clouds rolled in that evening, and a warm wind whipped through the docks. The churning waters and heavy air had sent many of the sailors and fishermen back to land and off to Granny’s to warm up, but a few stayed behind.

Gold had waited in the shadows of a boathouse until only one sailor remained. He didn’t have to wait long. The sun still peeked over the horizon, dulled by the clouds, and the library would have only been closed for less than an hour. He had given himself plenty of time.

Rolling the sailor’s body off the dock with ease, he wiped his mouth on a tissue and threw that in after the corpse. The sea water would break it up and destroy any evidence. All that was left was the small boat with the unfortunate bloodstain on the deck. Gold untied it from its bollard, and pushed his foot against the gunwale, sending it adrift. The strong winds helped. The waves threatened to push it back into the docks, but the sails edged it further away, bit-by-bit.

The body would be found in a day or two, washed ashore. The boat would be discovered floating off the coast, unmanned. The rough sea would get the blame.

Retrieving his cane from where he’d dropped it in the struggle, Gold fixed his suit and strolled off towards the beach. He had to take the backroads, the same ones he had followed Belle through, to avoid being caught. The dunes were different now. The calm had gone, and the moonlight had been replaced by the dim grey of dusk. The tall grass thrashed in the wind, and all of the black butterflies had gone.

They only ever seemed to be around when Belle was near.

It wasn’t too long a walk from the dunes. Those lesser-used roads led him directly to the street at the side of his shop. Like Belle’s library, it was no coincidence that he lived directly between the woods and the sea.

He approached the library with caution, remembering to use his cane as he walked across the street. The threatening storm had cleared the roads as much as it had the docks, but he still needed to be careful. He couldn’t let his guard drop now.

The press of the ward above the doors hit him before he reached the library itself. It had weakened over the weeks. His presence at her door would have drained the roses and garlic of whatever life they had left in them. They would do nothing to stop him from entering. The real problem, the things that barred his entrance, were the coffin nails.

Knocking on the door with the handle of his cane, Gold glanced around the empty street and waited.

It was entirely possible that Belle had already retired up to her apartment for the evening, but her devotion to her library meant that she rarely left any work unfinished.

Just when he was beginning to second-guess his assumption, the door’s lock clicked and the door opened. Even with the nails above, Belle only opened one door, just enough to peer out at him. She wouldn’t grant him entrance. He wasn’t sure why he’d expected her to. Of course she wouldn’t. Not after what she’d seen.

Suppressing a sigh and keeping his face expressionless, Gold reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a flask. It wasn’t his personal one, that one contained human blood, but this one was also made of silver and just as fine. The ornate, floral pattern weaving around the sides would look just right in Belle’s hands.

“I brought you this,” he began, offering her the cold flask. “As a small peace offering.”

Belle looked at it warily, but still accepted it from his hand. She unscrewed the cap and peered inside. The liquid would be too dark to see in the dusk light, but she seemed to understand what he was offering her.

It was a genuine surprise when she shook her head and tried to return it.

“I use my own,” she reasoned.

Gold smiled and tapped his finger against the flask. “Mine will work better.”

Her mouth opened, on the verge of arguing, but then she thought better of it. She screwed the cap back onto the flask and stared at it. She offered no thank you, no protest, not even disgust. All she did was stare at the flask like she couldn’t believe it was real.

It took him a moment to realise that it wasn’t so much the flask itself that surprised her, but the contents. The fact he had offered something so rare and valuable, after weeks of avoiding and antagonising her, must have been confusing. And yet, despite it all, she had provided him with an alibi, unprompted. Was she really so surprised that he had helped her in return? She wouldn’t need to use her own blood if she had his.

“What exactly did you tell the Sheriff?” he asked, breaking the building silence.

Her eyes snapped up to his face, and something softened in them. She remained guarded, and held the flask in front of her like a shield, but he could see her opening up. Even as she shrugged.

“Only that we went for a walk, then came back here for the night.” A black butterfly fluttered past the door, through the light coming from the library, and she watched it go. “Both of us were seen talking near the woods.”

Gold nodded, but her answer still didn’t satisfy him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. The mystery of it all was still there.

“You didn’t need to imply we spent the night together.”

“I didn’t imply anything. I _told_ him we did,” Belle said, lifting her chin and daring him to comment. “We need to be careful. Either of us could be caught, and if one of us gets caught…” The butterfly returned and landed on her shoulder. “We risk exposing others.”

“I killed him,” he told her bluntly.

Shaking her head, Belle dropped her arms and gripped the flask tighter. 

“You did what you had to to survive. We all do,” she excused. 

Gold’s frown deepened. Belle rarely wore her hair down and loose, but it hadn’t struck him as odd until the moment she shook her head. The moonlight caught it differently. The dark chestnut curls didn’t bounce, and a streak of another colour ran through it.

He reached out for her, and Belle watched him cautiously. He’d expected her to shy from his touch, or to push his hand away, but she held still and let him brush her hair behind her ears. Grey hair, stark and almost white against the brown, shot through her temple. 

Gold caught the silver strands and ran his fingers through them.

“Should this be happening?” he asked gently.

Belle smiled ruefully, and finally pulled away from him. He should have known that she wouldn’t be willing to open up to him.

The door shut in his face, but before he could turn and leave, it reopened and Belle pulled him inside. No barrier resisted his entrance. No nails above the door pushed him back.

Belle had moved them.

She locked the doors behind them, and Gold squinted against the library lights. They were too bright after the dim dusk of the outside. 

“I use my own blood,” she reminded him, waving her left hand.

Her scar, blurred and pale, came into focus in front of him. It had been easy to guess that her palm had been cut, but it had taken him a shameful amount of time to realise _why_.

She was too perfect.

“I could get you human blood,” he offered. To anyone else it would have sounded ghoulish, but Belle only smiled and shook her head.

“I have to drink it,” she said, her eyes downturned.

Gold smirked. “As do I.”

Biting her lip, Belle glanced up at him and beckoned him away from the door. She was trying not to smile. Few people would want to smile at the thought of drinking blood, but Belle _wanted_ to smile. That meant something.

She set the flask down on a table, and ran her fingers over the raised pattern on the side. Gold followed her quietly, without the use of his cane, and waited for her to speak. She clearly wanted to say something. Her teeth released her lower lip, and Gold was seconds away from reaching out to touch his thumb to it when she finally spoke.

“I’m sorry I broke into your shop,” she began. “I didn’t think…” She took a deep breath and looked at him. “I didn’t know you slept there.”

He dropped his hand.

“Would you have broken in otherwise?” he quipped.

Belle huffed and gave him an unimpressed look; a warning to behave.

“You’re terrible,” she said.

“An odd apology.”

She laughed then, and finally allowed herself to smile. It didn’t last, but it had been there. It faded as the real reason for their conversation came back to her, and she dropped her eyes again, rubbing at the scar on her hand.

“You know my secret. I wanted to know a secret of yours,” she admitted.

“Belle…” Gold sighed, stepping closer. “You already know mine. You know what I am.”

She continued to worry at her scarred hand, and as much as he itched to reach out and touch her, he kept his arms firmly by his side.

“And you know what I am,” Belle said.

He knew what she was, and he knew what she did. Perhaps that was why he’d let her see him leaving the woods. _Knowing_ what someone was was very different to seeing the truth of what that meant. Revealing to him that she wasn’t human had been intentional, but she hadn’t wanted him to know what she did to remain that way.

Gold shook his head and took her scarred hand, stopping her from worrying it.

“My son’s a collector,” he said, and ran his thumb across the silver line.

“He gave you the horseshoe,” she remembered.

Gold nodded.

“He has a special interest in the occult.” _If she really wanted a secret of his..._ “He’s looking for a cure.”

She smiled wryly and moved closer. “He’ll be looking for a long time.”

“Well, we all have time,” Gold returned. Their eyes met. “I didn’t know the horseshoe would ward you away.”

Belle pressed her lips together, humming in thought. She seemed to believe him, but a doubt still lingered behind her smile.

“Did he?” she asked.

The question caught him off guard, and Gold shook his head before he could really consider it.

“I told him about you,” he admitted. “But he’d have no way of knowing you weren’t human.”

With a secretive smile that made him narrow his eyes, Belle closed the small gap between them. She pinched the knot in his tie and gave it a gentle tug, pretending to fix it. 

“Perhaps he saw something you didn’t,” she suggested.

It would be too much of a coincidence to think that Baelfire -- _Neal_ \-- had sent the horseshoe by chance. He knew about other non-humans, and while Gold had been too distracted by the pretty librarian to see her true nature, Neal might have noticed something _too perfect_ about her.

 _I didn’t charm you,_ she’d been insistent on that, but perhaps her charm hadn’t been deliberate or magical. She’d unknowingly charmed him with her warm smiles, and all of their conversations on books or antiques. Before she’d found out his true nature, and he hers.

She had drawn him in and Neal had wanted him to see the truth.

“Perhaps,” Gold allowed.

Belle turned her face up to his and smiled. She was so close. The sweet perfume of fresh berries, the one that always followed her, grew stronger. Each wild berry and the crisp earth it grew in surrounded him, pulling him into a clearing in the woods. He could clearly picture Belle picking the berries herself, her bare toes buried into the grass and soil. Black butterflies danced around her.

Her smile widened, and Gold couldn’t think why until he realised he’d leaned closer. The library came back to him. The artificial lights replaced the sun, the trees became bookshelves, and the butterflies turned into plastic bats. Belle was no longer foraging in the woods, but stood right before him with her face close to his. Their lips almost touched, and she pulled on his tie to bridge the final gap between them.

Once or twice, Gold had wondered what it would be like to kiss Belle. The reality was nothing like he'd imagined. Her lips were just as soft, her body pressed against his was just as electric, but he hadn’t anticipated her scent surrounding him; the thrill of her hands on his chest; her heart beating loud in his ears.

Everything felt right, after weeks of working against one another, until he ran his fingers through her hair and she stilled.

Belle pulled back, just enough for their lips to part, and drew in a breath.

“Come back next week,” she whispered, twisting her hand around his tie. Gold dropped his hand to her cheek, and noticed the new lines beside her eyes. He understood now why she had stopped.

“On Samhain,” he concluded. “After…”

She nodded and turned her head away. Gold dropped his hand. They stepped apart and Belle grabbed the flask from the table, trying to catch her breath. She wouldn’t look at him again, but he could see the hint of a smile curling the edge of her lips.

“Very well.” Gold tipped his head and stepped back with his cane. Belle smiled. “Until next week.”


	5. The Bath of Blood

Thunder rumbled over the sea. Storms had come in bursts throughout the week, but none of them as fierce as that night’s promised to be.

Belle had just finished putting together her basket for the evening when a sharp knock came at her door. Not from down in the library, but from the apartment door itself. Darkness had only just fallen, but it couldn’t be trick-or-treaters. After visiting the library during the day with the school, few children ever visited again in the evening.

Closing her basket and covering it with a towel, Belle glanced outside. A few families walked down the street. The shops were closed, but many of the windows were still lit up with Halloween decorations. The only shop in complete darkness was Gold’s. She knew before she opened the door that she would find him on the other side. 

“How did you get in?” she asked; not accusingly, just confused.

Gold only smiled. “You invited me,” he reminded her. “All it takes is one invitation.”

 _Of course_. She knew more than anyone how important words were. She should have been careful with her own.

Trying not to smile, she pulled her hood up over her hair and left him at the door.

“You’re early,” she said, retrieving her basket. “I have something to do before… You can come with me, if you want, but you might find it boring.”

“I doubt that.” Gold raised an eyebrow and stepped back from her door. “Lead the way, Miss French.”

* * *

The warm evening air buzzed with the promise of the storm. The wind whipped at her cloak, and she had to hold it tight at the neck to keep her hood from blowing off.

Gold walked silently beside her. Both quiet in that he didn’t speak, but also in his footsteps. Her heels clicked off the road and sidewalk, but Gold’s steps made no sound. More than once, she had to glance across to reassure herself that he was still there. He followed her towards the edge of town, through groups of excited children. Some of them ran around in their costumes, others happily carried their buckets full of treats. Belle smiled at them all, but none of them dared to look at Gold. That made her smile even more.

The path to the edge of town led directly to the woods, but Belle turned off before she reached the treeline. She led him down a separate path, little used and covered in dead, damp leaves, until they came to an iron fence and a crooked gate. It screeched as Belle opened it and took a step into the cemetery.

“Can you walk here?” she asked seriously.

Gold frowned for a moment of confusion, then smiled and strolled past her. “On hallowed ground, you mean?”

Belle nodded and followed after him.

“That affects me as little as it affects you,” he promised, walking the old path between the headstones.

Some were placed close together and others were far apart. There was a pattern to the layout, and Belle had suspected for a long time that the gaps were simply unmarked graves. She opened her basket and left a red rose on each, estimating where the separate burials would be. Gold stopped and watched her with a curious eye.

Neither of them needed much light to see by, but the moon cast a silver sheet over the cemetery, highlighting his face.

“I like to honour the dead first,” she explained, pulling another rose from her basket. Gold took a step back, making sure he didn’t drain them of life. Belle smiled at him, and lay the flower at the base of a fallen stone.

“It’s their night as much as ours,” she added.

He watched silently, intrigued, as she wiped clean the oldest of graves; the ones with no one left alive to remember and mourn them; those with faded names and crumbling stone. Her familiar flapped around her, its black wings disappearing in and out of the shadowed trees.

“Hello,” she greeted, aware of Gold’s eyes on her back.

He looked like a ghost amongst the tombstones, his skin pale and eyes glowing. They still reminded her of a wolf’s eyes, but she wouldn’t tell him that.

The butterfly landed on her arm as she left another rose, then moved on to the next grave.

Belle saved her favourite for last. A statue of a woman, shrouded in a heavy cloak, looked down on her. The shadow from the hood hid the statue’s stony face, but Belle still felt the weight of her stare upon her. She wiped the stone as best as she could, and left a rose at the carved feet.

Once her roses were all lying across the cemetery, Belle returned to Gold. He stayed amongst the newer graves, where his presence wouldn’t disturb her roses. The flowers of the recently deceased turned black instead. Belle chose not to say anything. She greeted him with a kiss on his icy cheek and his lips parted.

If he was really going to stay with her all night, then she wanted to be open with him before they returned to her apartment.

“ _Restore them to youth by sacrifice of blood_ ,” she recited. The old spell books had been lost centuries ago, but Belle still remembered the words. “In the old days they thought that meant a real sacrifice. That only a death could give new life.” She paused, shaking her head, and her little butterfly flew away. “But words are important. The spell requires blood, not death.”

He took her hand silently, her scarred hand, and raised it to his lips. Belle smiled sadly.

“The seventeenth century got a lot of things wrong,” she said.

Gold took his lips from her knuckles and nodded.

“I remember. But there is nothing wrong with death, or crossing the veil. I create death to survive. If you ever have… I can’t judge you for it.”

Gently pulling on her hand, he led her towards the cemetery gates. They walked slowly, as if they were a normal couple out for a moonlit walk, but Belle’s eyes fell on each grave they past; each one lit by the moon, each one with flowers that turned black.

“ _There is no such thing as death_ ,” Gold said.

Belle looked across at him, recognising the words.

“ _In nature nothing dies. From each sad remnant of decay..._ ” 

He plucked a white rose from a bouquet on the grave of an old couple. Belle wanted to protest, but it wasn’t her place to tend the graves of those who still had living loved ones. He turned to her, just as black spread up the thorned stem and dried out the petals.

“ _Some forms of life arise_ ,” Gold finished, holding the flower out to her. She took it, and rather than try to smell the fragrance that wouldn’t be there anymore, she leaned forward to kiss him.

Thunder clapped overheard, piercing the clouds and welcoming a wash of heavy rain. Thick drops fell over their heads, and Belle pulled away from Gold as it hit her cheeks. She smiled at him, at the sudden shower, but worry laced his own smile. There was nothing for him to worry about, she wanted to say, the cold wouldn’t hurt her, but she took his hand and walked on without a word.

Every drop of cold rain soaked into her clothes and sunk into her skin, but she didn’t want to hurry back. Belle wanted to take her time walking with him. The storm had cleared the streets. All of the trick-or-treaters had run for cover, the shop displays had been turned off, and she wanted to enjoy the solitude of being with Gold at night. It was their time. They belonged together, in that moment.

When they reached the library, Belle led him up to her apartment. She locked each door behind them, treading puddles across the floorboards. She didn’t care. It would dry up and be gone by morning.

Gold’s suit clung to him, plastered to his skin by the rain. Her own dress wasn’t much better. It stuck to her, wrinkled and heavy with water.

“I’ll find you a towel,” Belle offered, welcoming him into her apartment.

Gold peeled off his blazer, and Belle kicked off her shoes on her way into her bedroom. She came back with a fluffy blue towel, a box of black candles, and his flask.

“Will you light these while I bathe?” she asked, holding out the box. Nodding, Gold took the box and peered inside. They were only old pillar candles, but they would do for what was about to happen.

She wrapped the towel around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

He didn’t question her or push himself into her space, and for that she was grateful. He accepted his one task without question, and accepted her kiss with a smile.

Lightning flashed outside and Belle moved to her kitchenette, dripping a path of rainwater behind her. She set an empty glass jar on the windowsill outside, and left the window itself wide open. It was fortunate that neither of them could catch anything from the cold. A burst of wind blew back her wet hair, and the jar began to catch the rain.

“Please don’t come in,” she added, turning to face Gold.

He approached her then, and lifted his hands to her hood. When she didn’t protest, he pulled it down. The rainwater made it stick to her hair, but he was careful as he revealed what was underneath. The previous week had seen more of her hair fading to grey. More than she usually had. Gold ran his fingers over the silver veins. His touch was tender, but Belle still couldn’t bring herself to look up and meet his eyes. She stared at his chest, at the way his shirt stuck to his skin, until his thumb traced the lines at the corners of her eyes.

Belle pulled away.

“I won’t be long,” she said, retreating into the bathroom.

He didn’t follow her. She wouldn’t have known if he had, his footsteps wouldn’t have given him away, but she somehow _knew_ he would leave her be.

She went to the window and opened it as far as it would go. The wind blew in the rain. It splattered against her arm and the glass, soaking the sill and wall beneath. She grabbed her own candles, and shielded them with her hands as she tried to light each one.

Everything that happened after that was automatic, muscle memory. Running the bath; surrounding it with the black candles and her basket of supplies; undressing. The small flames flickered wildly in the wind blowing through the room, but none of them were snuffed out. They threw an orange glow across the walls and her skin as she sank into the water.

She didn’t realise how cold the rain had made her until she sat in the warm water, but she couldn’t rest, no matter how much her aching and aging body wanted her to.

Pulling the corks from her assembled bottles, Belle poured in the seawater she’d collected weeks ago, when Gold had stopped her on the beach. A bottle of dried berries followed, picked the night she’d met Gold on the edge of the woods.

Finally, she closed her eyes and waited for a gust of wind to sweep through the room.

_Fire, earth, air, and water._

Belle grabbed her flask, the one Gold had given her, and unscrewed the cap. She didn’t give herself a chance to think about the contents. She said a silent prayer to her matron and patron, and took a sip. The tang of his blood hit her tongue, and she tried to ignore the other tastes that followed. The copper of money. Dried roses. Death.

Wincing, Belle swallowed the mouthful and upended the rest of the flask into the water. The blood spread into the bath like a cloud of red ink. She watched it mix with everything else, through the ripples and around her naked body, until the water turned a red-orange.

Her little butterfly fluttered in from the window, and landed on the wall at the foot of the bath. Belle smiled.

A chill, tingling and sharper than when she’d slit her hand and drink her own blood, spread through her limbs. Hoping that that was a good sign, Belle sat back in the bath and took a deep breath. It was too late to go back now. She sank lower and lower, until her body and head were entirely submerged in the mixture of blood and berries and salt.

Then she waited.

Centuries of repeating the same ritual had made her adept at holding her breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting against the burning in her lungs. She had to wait. She had to wait until she had a sign, no matter how desperate she was for air.

She had to wait.

Lightning lit up the room, followed by a crack of thunder so loud it rumbled under the water. The lights went out and Belle jumped up, gasping for breath. She blinked away the water and pushed her hair from her face.

Her body no longer ached. Her nails, long and sharp, ended fingers that were once again smooth and pale. She took a lock of her hair, where it clung to her shoulder, and smiled. The brown of her hair had returned.

Climbing from her bath, Belle left everything as it was and wrapped herself in a towel. She didn’t dry herself off. She didn’t put anything away or let the water out of the tub. She left it all and stepped into the dark sitting room. Both the bathroom and kitchenette windows let out any possible heat in her apartment. Even the candles that Gold had lit and dotted around the room, gave off no heat, only the illusion of it with their warm orange flames.

Gold stood from the sofa when he saw her. He’d removed most of his suit, save for his shirt and trousers. They were both still stuck to his skin, with the towel draped over his shoulders, and Belle smiled.

He approached her through the dark, and the chill in her new body, fuelled by his blood, turned into excitement. He appeared a predator, stalking through the shadows, until lightning lit up the room and she clearly saw the awe in his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said gently, ducking her head.

Gold’s finger caught her chin, and tilted her head back to look at him.

“Are you certain you haven’t bewitched me?” he teased.

Belle huffed and slipped her wet hand into his. She didn’t want to waste another moment.

“I couldn’t bewitch a vampire,” she promised, walking backwards towards her bedroom door.

Gold followed closely, his steps oddly unhindered by their closeness. He kissed her temple, the corners of her eyes, her cheeks. Anywhere that had once shown the signs of her true age.

“My little witch,” he whispered against her lips.

She backed into her door and he pinned her against it with his body. Her heart raced, and she wondered if he’d be able to hear it. She hoped he could. There was something dangerous and thrilling about being alone with him, knowing he could hear what he did to her.

His hands slid down her sides, caressing her through her damp towel, and drew a path between her legs.

“Wait,” Belle said, grasping his wrist. “Tell me your name.”

He pulled back just enough for their eyes to meet, and leaned into her ear.

“Lucius,” he murmured, almost as if he feared being overheard.

Gold had only ever given his name as an initial, and when she found out what he was, she knew why. Most non-humans, the older ones, had changed their names several times by now, but not everyone did. Belle understood not wanting to. She kept the name her mother had given her.

It was one, final connection to their first lives.

She smiled at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her towel loosened, and Gold moved back just enough to let it fall to the floor.

“Kiss me,” Belle whispered, leaning up to him, and he did. He met her lips with hunger and slid his hand up her leg. Her thighs still dripped with water from her bath. His hands ran over her wet skin with ease, and found her wet between her legs.

Sighing against his lips, Belle tipped her head back and broke the kiss. He teased his fingertips across her folds, making her breath quiver. She stepped her legs further apart to welcome his touch, and Gold pressed his face to her neck.

“Good girl,” he praised, breathing her in. She wondered if he’d be able to smell his blood on her, marking her.

His fingers gently pressed against her clit and drew circles around it. Belle gasped his name and rolled her hips against his hand.

“That’s it.” He dotted slow, lingering kisses up the side of her neck. Each one teasing her with the scrape of his teeth and the promise of a bite. She tipped her head to the side, giving him access to her neck, and panted desperately as he worked her to a peek with his fingers alone.

She didn’t realise she was repeating his name under her breath until he nipped at her skin.

“Lucius!” Belle dug her nails into the damp shirt across his back. Gold hissed, but didn’t tell her to stop. She suspected he liked it as much as she did. His own sharp nails lightly scratched at her folds and her inner thighs. She arched her back, pressing herself into his fingers, and desperately tried to reach for the climax his hand promised. It was just out of reach, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quite get there.

Gold leaned away from her neck, and Belle’s eyes fluttered open. He watched her, his eyes glowing in the dark, and it was that -- the reminder of who and what was touching her -- that sent her over the edge. Her pleasure shook through her and Belle cried out. If it hadn’t been for Gold’s solid weight holding her against the door, her legs would have collapsed beneath her.

Clinging on to him, she rode out the waves of her orgasm against his hand, and Gold pressed tender kisses to her wet hair.

“That’s it,” he crooned in her ear. “Let go.”

She slumped against him, burying her face against his wet chest, while the storm raged outside.


	6. Bloody Kisses

A calm bliss replaced the chill that Gold’s blood had left in her body.

Lifting her into his arms, Gold let himself into her bedroom and carried her to the bed. He didn’t look around. He didn’t comment on her altar, the statues of her matron and patron, or the shelves of herbs and devotions. He only laid her gently out on her bed and stood over her.

No one else had been in that room. No one else would have been allowed. Her bedroom, her altar, were her sacred space. They were private. In her long life, Belle had had fleeting romances; most of them with other witches, none of them with vampires. None of them had been allowed in her bedroom or near her altar.

Gold must have known how significant that was, because he didn’t take his eyes off her.

Belle stretched, recovering some of her energy, and knelt up to open the window beside her bed. The storm continued to rage outside. Heavy rain and wind pelted the open windowpane, and sprayed back onto her bare skin. It was the perfect night. The full moon peered through the storm clouds, bright and divine.

“Lie with me,” Belle said, turning from the window. She reached out for Gold’s hand, smiling at him and hoping to tempt him. It worked. Gold returned her smile, but there was something devilish about it. He wasn’t going to simply do as she said. He was going to tempt her and tease her as much as she wanted to tempt and tease him.

Unbuckling his belt, he began to slowly undress in front of her. Belle’s lips parted, as the damp layers peeled away and revealed his pale skin beneath. Bit-by-bit. Until they were both naked. His clothes, what remained of his rain-soaked suit, were dropped carelessly to the floor. They didn’t need their armour anymore. She had allowed him into her sacred space, and he allowed her to see him without his fine suit.

Her eyes roamed over his body; from the dip of his collarbone, over his pale chest and stomach, to his very pleasing cock.

Leaving the window, where the cold wind had licked at her wet skin, Belle crawled across the bed and pulled him to her. Her eyes didn’t see as well in the dark as his did, but she could see well enough to know that she hadn’t been wrong about him. He was exactly what she wanted.

Lightning flashed outside, throwing light across the room, and for a second his wolfish eyes were human again. Belle sucked in a breath and let him go.

“Lie down,” she said breathlessly, shuffling backwards and making room. Gold followed her lead.

Water from both of them soaked into her sheets. The damp made her so much more aware of the freezing wind whistling around them, and the chilled skin of the man beside her. Her skin pebbled. It made her desperate to press herself against him. Not to banish the cold, but to welcome it in and feel its hands embracing her.

Gold lay back and put his head on her pillow. His hair hung limp and wet like her own, and Belle ran her fingers through it. He let her hands explore, leaning in to each caress. She traced down the outline of his jaw and the plane of his chest. It didn’t rise and fall with excited breaths like hers did, he didn’t breathe at all, but Belle could see in his eyes what she was doing to him. They watched her closely, glowing with a fierce hunger for something more than blood. It excited her. Her heart thumped in her chest, and with a final push of bravery, she straddled him and pressed herself against his cock. 

Gold grasped her hips and dug his fingers into her. The tips of his nails pricked her icy skin, teasing her and thrilling her.

Belle rolled her hips, teasing him in return with her cunt along the length of his hardening cock. It almost took the breath from her, just that little bit of friction between them, but it did more to him. He bucked up against her, and when Belle pressed her hand to his stomach to keep him still, he growled.

“ _Belle_.”

She ignored him, happily rocking herself up and down his length.

“Play nice, Mr. Gold,” she warned, pressing her nails into his stomach for good measure.

He hissed and sat up, jostling her on top of him. Belle laughed and wrapped her arms around his shoulder. It had been too easy to wind him up, but he seemed to like that. He returned her smile, mischief in his inhuman eyes, and dropped his mouth to her breast.

Gold knew exactly how to tease her back. The cold that had pebbled her skin had turned her nipples to hard peaks, and he circled them with his tongue and thumb. She gasped his name, cupping the back of his head, but he only hummed in return. He wouldn’t stop, not unless she wanted him to. Gold would happily please her all night if she let him, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to _share_ that night, with its storm and darkness and ritual.

Taking his cock, Belle stroked him with just enough pressure to distract him, before she lifted herself up. He sighed against her chest, but that wasn’t enough for her. She wanted to hear him do more than _sigh_. She wanted him to come undone.

Pushing against his shoulder until he lay back, Belle guided him between her legs and sank down onto him. Moving so slowly was almost agony, but she took her time, until she was fully seated on top of him. Gold started breathing then. He panted with the effort of keeping still, just as Belle gasped at the feeling of being so full.

She lifted herself carefully, testing their new position, and gradually found a steady rhythm to lift her hips to. It wasn’t fast, she wanted to build up to that, but it was enough to fuel the ache low in her body. She pressed both of her hands to his stomach, and found his bright eyes in the dark. He watched her intently, gripping her and grunting and barely holding on to his self-control. Belle smiled.

“What… What would you do?” she asked, trying to capture her breath. “If I let you.”

Gold appeared too stunned to think, but then he sat forward. His hands smoothed around the curve of her hips and rear, and cupped her as she rocked against him.

“Ride me,” he growled, lowering his face to her neck. “ _Harder._ ” He put his teeth, the sharp points of the cuspids, on her. “And tell me what _you_ want.”

His words sent a shiver through her, and she tried to do as he said. Even as her legs began to tremble, she rode him harder.

“I can’t,” she panted, desperately trying to keep up her rhythm.

“You can,” Gold encouraged, and his gruff words almost sounded like praise. “My little witch.” He kissed her neck. “Tell me.”

Lightning lit the room and Belle gasped.

“Bite me,” she whispered, twisting her fingers in his hair. “Please-- _Lucius_.”

She waited for a sharp pain or sting, but nothing came. Gold peppered her throat with kisses, before his lips lingered on a spot just about her shoulder. She felt the pressure of his sharp teeth, but pain didn’t follow. A pleasure, similar to the build of pressure low in her body, tingled through her neck. It made it almost impossible to focus on what she was doing, but Gold’s hands helped her. He guided her hips, encouraging her to ride him faster.

Belle keened and dug her nails into his scalp. She was so close.

The final push towards the edge came when Gold pulled back. His lips and chin dripped red with blood; her blood mixed with his.

“Sweet Belle French. Does it please you?” he asked, still guiding her hips. Belle bit her lip to keep from moaning. “Do you enjoy it?” He pressed a bloody kiss to her chin. “Having a killer between your legs?”

She shook her head frantically, not trusting herself to speak.

“No?” Gold pressed, continuing his trail of red kisses across her jaw.

“No,” she gasped. “Just you.”

His kisses stopped. Belle thought she’d said the wrong thing, until he leaned back. The look in his eyes, even as they glinted in the dark, was one of awe, not discomfort.

Thunder crashed above the library, and Gold kissed her. She tasted herself, the salt of blood and wild berries on his firm lips. Her heart pounded. It shouldn’t have excited her as much as it did to taste blood on him, or to feel his wet skin on hers, but it did. Belle broke the kiss and flicked her tongue across his lower lip. His fingers dug into her behind.

“Lucius,” she whispered against his mouth. “Keep going.”

It wasn’t immediately clear what she meant. She was so close to her climax, caught in a haze of want and need, that only her hand pressed against the back of his head gave him the clue he needed. He buried his face in her neck again, and Belle tipped her head back.

No pain followed, only the sharp press of his canines and the sweet tension of him sucking at her neck.

She clawed her nails down his back, desperately trying to draw him closer. Her rocking hips became more erratic, and even Gold’s hands couldn’t guide her in his own urgency. His skin slid against hers; wet with rain and bathwater and blood. He grasped her tighter and groaned against her neck, and she dug her nails into his back.

Gold growled. The sound of pleasure and pain shot through her, down her stomach, and sent her over the edge. She gasped, arching against his chest, and Gold kissed her throat. 

“Fuck, Belle,” he muttered, kissing her neck. “That’s it.”

She couldn’t think or speak, save for whispering his name. The only thing that brought her back to reality was the sensation of him following her over the edge. He bit her shoulder and groaned as he came inside her, filling her. Her veins sang with the rush of her pleasure and the cold and his blood, and she clung to him with trembling arms. Gold held her, supporting her, and languidly lapped the pooling blood at her collarbone.

Humming contentedly, Belle rubbed her cheek against the side of his head. His damp hair stuck to her, and she caught the scent of earth after a heavy rain.

Belle pressed her nose into his hair and smiled.

“Did you always plan on biting me?” she teased.

Gold chuckled and lifted his head to look at her. Even as she came down from her high and the electric buzz in his body faded, there was still something thrilling about seeing him like that. Completely bare beneath her, without his fine suits and with her blood dripping black down his chin, he looked like something wild. A wild, dangerous creature looked back at her through the dark, and he was all hers.

Belle’s breath stuttered.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

Shaking her head, she willed herself to move off him, letting his cock slip from between her legs.

“No, I… I need to freshen up first.” Belle stood, without a care about her naked state, the wetness between her legs, or the blood on her neck. She faced Gold without shame, and he smiled at her as if he was ready to follow her every word. “Are you coming?” she asked.

He nodded and followed her from the room. The ritual water still filled the bath. Everything was just as she’d left it, but Gold didn’t ask any questions. His eyes, still glowing in the darkness of the storm, scanned over the remnants of the ritual, but he let her keep her secrets.

She glanced in the mirror at the result of her spell. Her skin had smoothed out, chasing away the old lines. She traced the absent wrinkles beside her eyes, and ran her fingers across to her temple. In the dark, her wet hair appeared black, without a single streak of grey. Her age, her true age, wasn’t visible in the mirror. And neither was Gold.

His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her close, but the mirror showed her alone in an empty room. Belle laughed and covered his hands.

“Did you sneak up on me?”

Gold hummed, placing a kiss on her shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”

Her smile weakened, but that only made him hold her tighter. His fingers lightly traced across her stomach, and despite her doubts, Belle relaxed back into him.

“You are,” he insisted in a low murmur beneath her ear. “Before and after your ritual. Age doesn’t destroy beauty, Belle, and your looks are the least of what make you beautiful.”

Lightning flashed outside and danced across her skin. She should have felt exposed, but she didn’t. The wind from outside whirled around her, welcomed by the open window, and Gold’s cold arms held her firm. She felt safe.

“Do mine bother you?” he asked when the silence dragged on.

Belle shook her head adamantly. “Of course not.”

She turned in his arms, and they loosened around her. Whatever his reaction to her answer had been, it was gone before she looked at his face. Gold only smiled at her and ran his hands up her back.

“You’re so cold,” he noticed, a frown deepening his own lines. Belle wanted to put her fingers to the crease, to assure him that his looks didn’t bother her, but he turned away before she could. “Can I run you a fresh bath?” he asked.

Belle nodded wordlessly and let him drain the tub. He refilled it with hot water, something she had to check the temperature of herself, and offered her his hand so she could climb in. Steam rose steadily around them, before being swept away by the wind. Gold asked if she wanted to keep the window open, and she insisted that she did. She liked feeling the storm as much as she enjoyed seeing and hearing it.

Gold slid into the bath behind her. His chilled skin reached her even through the warmth of the water, enveloping her and holding her close.

Leaning back against him, his legs either side of her, Belle drew ripples across the water with her fingertips. The surface appeared grey in the dark, broken only by their pale skin hidden beneath. It was a stark contrast to where they’d been only a few weeks ago. She’d blocked him from entering the library, and now they were sharing a bath in the apartment above.

“I thought you hated me,” she mused. The words were quiet, but they weren’t drowned out by the storm outside. Gold had perfect hearing.

“I never have,” he said, pressing his nose to her neck. Belle thought he might try to bite her, she braced herself for it with a secret delight, but he didn’t. He only kissed her and held her tighter. His arms circled just beneath her breasts, and she covered his hands with her own.

“I didn’t hate you,” she returned gently, resting her head against his. “I was just scared.”

Gold’s only response was to continue his kisses down her neck to her shoulder. The water would wash away the congealing blood, but his trailing lips followed the intimate path he’d made in her room. Belle sighed.

“I don’t want a cure,” she confided. “I wouldn’t do all of this if I wanted a cure.”

Gold shook his head, brushing his nose against her skin.

“Nor do I,” he said. “But Neal has never enjoyed what we are.”

Belle frowned softly, watching the water bob around them. If his son wanted a cure, then one day Gold would be left alone. The man who held her close and lavished her with kisses, would lose his son and have to go on without him. Alone. 

“Maybe that’s why he wanted you to know the truth about me,” she added quietly. “And now we’re spending the night together...”

His kisses slowed, and ended with one final press of his lips to her temple.

“I can’t stay here tonight,” he said regretfully.

“Oh.” She lifted her head, frowning. “But I thought--”

“I need my own bed,” Gold interrupted gently.

Relaxing, Belle took a deep breath and licked her lips. She could still taste the blood.

“You mean your soil.”

Gold pressed his nose into her hair and nodded. “From my grave.”

Biting her lip, Belle watched the rise of the steam from the water. The thin wisps twirled up into the air, only to be carried away by the storm. The cold wind and the cold of the man behind her were chasing away the warmth, sinking deep into her bones. But she didn’t want either of them to go away.

She turned around and knelt between his legs.

“I could always sleep on top?” she suggested. “On the bed.”

Gold shook his head, but the way his hands slid down her sides, holding her tight and close, gave her a different answer. She leaned forward, almost lying on top of him, and smiled.

“No, sweetheart, you don’t have to. It’s--”

“I’m not scared anymore,” she interrupted firmly, raising an eyebrow. Gold closed his mouth. “I haven’t been with a… I was scared of having someone so similar so close, and I had no idea. But I’m not afraid of _you_. I’m not afraid of cemeteries, or those who lie in the soil. Why would I be afraid of you?” She lay down on her stomach, pressing her chest to his. “Especially on nights like this.”

A soft smile came to his lips, and Belle returned it as his hands ran up her back. He hadn’t stopped touching her since she’d finished her ritual, and that was enough to tell her that he didn’t want to part from her any time soon. Not even when he returned to his bed.

“We belong to the darkness,” Belle added, and leaned up to kiss him. “Together.”

They could go to his shop, close the heavy curtains, and sleep away the following day; him in his coffin and her resting above. The shop and library would be closed, and Graham might come looking for them, but they would be hidden away together.

He smiled tentatively and circled his arms around her. Thunder clapped outside, so close she felt it rumble in her chest.

“Are you willing to brave the storm?” Gold asked.

“With you,” Belle answered, leaning up to kiss him. “Yes.”


End file.
